Great. Just what she needed right now.
Unless Kelly had called him, too, and he’d been on his way out here to tell her?
His truck had obviously broken down. The hood was up and he hadn’t even gotten it off to the side of the road. He was standing by the driver’s door, his hands on his hips and his beady little eyes narrowed against the dust.
Emma shut off her truck and stared at him through the windshield. A growl rattled low in Beaker’s chest.
She wasn’t getting out of the truck. Wayne Poulin had a two-way radio, just like everyone else, and could call for a tow.
He walked up to her door and Emma rolled down the window just enough to speak to him.
“I need a ride into town,” he said without greeting.
He certainly didn’t sound as if Kelly had called him. “I’m in a hurry, Wayne. And I’m headed in the opposite direction. I’ll send someone back—”
He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a gun, which he aimed at her face. Beaker’s low rumble escalated to a vicious growl as he tried to crawl over Emma’s lap and put himself between her and the danger.
Wayne moved his gun in Beaker’s direction. “Settle him down, Emma, or I’ll shoot him. I’m going to climb in the back, and you’re going to move your truck into the trees to your right. Don’t start it until I’m settled. Understand?”
Holding on to Beaker’s collar and pushing him down in the seat beside her, Emma nodded. Wayne scaled the side of her truck and crouched behind her. Beaker nearly tore her hand off as he strained to face the threat.
“It’s okay, Beak. Take it easy,” she said, watching Wayne in her mirror.
He tapped on the glass with the barrel of his gun. “Start the truck and go slowly,” he said. “Don’t try anything, or I’ll pull the trigger.”
She believed him. She’d never trusted Wayne, and she certainly didn’t doubt the man was mean enough to shoot her or her dog.
The question was, why?
Kidnapping her didn’t make sense, so why was he pulling this stupid stunt?
Emma started the truck and put it in gear, letting it idle its way into the woods.
“That’s far enough. Now shut it off,” Wayne ordered.
She did as she was told and sat there, staring straight ahead, one hand on Beaker to keep him calm. She was afraid that as soon as she opened her door, all hell was going to break loose.
“Now get out.”
Very firmly, Emma commanded Beaker to stay. The dog whined in protest, his hackles still raised, his eyes never leaving Wayne as he moved to her door. Emma opened the door and tried to scoot out and keep Beaker inside.
His gun poised, Wayne pulled her door all the way open.
Beaker lunged.
So did Emma.
The gun went off and she heard a yelp as all three of them fell to the ground. She dove for Wayne just as he was taking aim at her dog again.
“Run!” she screamed, kicking at Beaker as she tried to get the gun.
Wayne pulled the trigger again right next to her ear, deafening her to the point of pain. An outraged snarl erupted from Beaker as he darted for the safety of the bushes. Wayne fired again. There was no yelp, only the cracking of branches as the dog fled.
Emma lay on the ground on her back, holding her left shoulder. She didn’t know which hurt more, her ear or her old wound.
“I’ve got three bullets left, Emma. Give my any more trouble and I’ll use every one of them on you. Now get up,” he said as he hauled her to her feet.
Emma stifled a cry of pain, afraid Beaker would come running back to help her. Wayne kept darting looks at the bushes as he dragged her over to his truck.
“Shut the hood,” he ordered, holding her captive by her hair.
She did as he asked, and he hauled her around to the passenger side of the truck.
“Open it and get in.”
She opened the door, but before she could get in he pushed her down on the seat, spinning her around while letting go of her hair to grab one of her arms.
“Put your hands in front of you.” He darted one more look at the woods, then tucked his gun in his belt. He reached in on the floor of the truck and got a rope and tied her hands together.
“What’s gotten into you, Wayne? Why are you doing this? I didn’t find anythingat those coordinates.”
He finished tightening the knot, then glared at her. “I’m taking you out of the equation. Once everyone realizes you’ve run off like your sister, Sinclair will take his kid and go back to New York. Then I’ll finally be home free.”
Take her out of the … “Are you nuts? Nobody’s going to believe I’ve run off! They know I’d never abandon Mikey.”
He used her bound hands to haul her into a sitting position, shoved her feet inside, and pushed the lock on the door but didn’t shut it yet. “They’ll believe it once I start the rumor that Sinclair paid you a tidy sum to disappear so he could have the boy free and clear. And that if you didn’t take the money, he’d ruin your business and take his son home anyway.”
“You’re crazy. No one would believe something like that.”
He laughed insanely. “They’ve believed all the other rumors I’ve been spreading for the last ten years. They’ll believe it, all right, because everyone knows bad blood always wins out.” He stepped back with a twisted grin. “That dress you wore to the dance certainly showed everyone you’re no better than your sister,” he added, slamming the door shut.
Emma drew in a shuddering breath as she slowly lifted her hands to work her sore shoulder. Wayne took a hesitant step toward where Beaker had disappeared, his gun in his hand, the hammer cocked to fire. He waited, listening, and Emma prayed her dog was smart enough to stay hidden. Getting himself killed wouldn’t help her; it would only empower Wayne even more.
He finally gave up and came back to the truck. Without saying a word, he got in, started the truck, and headed away from the main road, deeper into the forest.
Emma slouched down so she could see the road behind them in her side mirror. She hoped Wayne’s first shot hadn’t been deep enough that Beaker would bleed to death. She didn’t see any sign of her dog, her truck … or anything else to say she’d even been there.
Chapter Nineteen
F or forty minutes Emmarode in frightened, painful silence beside the man she’d known since childhood.
It was as if something in Wayne had snapped. She had never liked him, but now he appeared to have traveled beyond reality into darkness. He was sweating. His face was flushed and he gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled tension.
It hadn’t taken Emma long to realize where they were going. The bumpy, overgrown track was leading to the coordinates she wished she’d never found.
Wayne was staying off the Golden Road, a private gravel highway used by the paper mill to transport logs. There would be plenty of trucks on the Golden this morning, which was probably why Wayne was avoiding it.
So they were taking the long way, which involved a maze of unused tote roads that made the going slow and arduous, and painful to her throbbing shoulder. The entire right side of her body was bruised from banging against the door, since her tied hands made her unable to brace herself against the rougher spots in the road.
She kept peeking in her side mirror for any sign of Beaker. She didn’t know much about dogs, but she didn’t think they could travel nonstop for great distances, especially wounded. Yet Beaker seemed more remarkable than most. Maybe …
“Who called me pretending to be Kelly?” she finally asked into the silence.
If she’d been thinking with her head instead of her heart, she’d have realized it wasn’t Kelly earlier.